Spellsinger 04 - The Moment Of The Magician Read online

with his hands, and dove into the water.

  A couple of fast kicks carried him well out into the

  open lake. He did not surface but swam hard and

  unerringly for the four high islands of the east. Like

  the other isles that combined to form the sprawling

  city of Quasequa, they were connected to one an-

  THE MOMENT or TBB MAOICUJT

  19

  other by causeways, but this was not the time to walk

  openly on city streets.

  It was time for stealth and for clinging to the dark

  bottom of the lake.

  II

  Opiode sat in his robes of office, a thin, narrow

  upswept cap balanced on the middle of his slick

  head, and regarded his visitor. Flute stood quietly by

  the front door.

  The raven wore the kilt of his clan, colorful material

  striped with green, purple, and red. His vest was light-

  ly spun lavender. A single gold chain hung round

  his neck to rest against his chest feathers. He rubbed

  the underside of his beak with a flexible wingtip.

  "Let me get this straight, now, sorcerer." He was

  studying the papers Opiode had handed him. "You

  want me to fly north along this route, turning slighdy

  west here, to deliver this message." He shuffled the

  papers, held up one filled with writing instead of

  diagrams. "It goes to an old turtle named Clothahump

  who lives in"—he checked the map briefly—"this ma-

  jor tree here. For one hundred coins." Opiode nodded.

  "That's a helluva long flight," Pandro said.

  "I had heard that you were not afraid of long flights."

  "I ain't. 1 ain't afraid of anything, least of all a little

  long-distance traveling. But considering how quiet

  you're being about this, and the amount you're paying

  me, well, no disrespect. Master Opiode, but—what's

  the catch?"

  20

  TBK MQMKNT OF THE KAOICIAN 21

  Opiode glanced at Flute, then sighed and smiled,

  down at Pandro. "It would not be right for me to

  keep it from you. You must know what you are

  about, as well as its importance.

  "You must have heard that another has assumed

  my position as chief advisor to the Quorum."

  "Sure. It's all over town. This Markus fella... what's

  it to me?"

  "Good Pandro, I have reason to believe that this

  newcomer intends ill toward our great city. But 1

  cannot convince the members of the Quorum of

  that. They would think I was making accusations out

  of bitterness at my loss- And I cannot move against

  this Markus by myself. I need help. This Clothahump

  that you will seek out is the only one who can help us.

  "The 'catch' is that this Markus the Ineluctable is

  crafty as well as skilled in the arcane arts. You are

  sure none saw you arrive here?"

  "As sure as we can be, Master," said Flute. "I took

  every precaution."

  "Then, good Pandro, there may be no catch. But

  be ever alert as you wing northward, for this Markus

  is not stupid. If he believes you are aiding me, it

  could be dangerous for you. If he did see you arrive

  here, or sees you depart, he may try to stop you

  from completing your journey."

  "Is that all?" The raven rested his wingtips on his

  hips for a moment, then rolled up the message and

  the map and slipped them into his backpack. "Then

  Acre's nothing to concern yourself with. Master

  Optode. There isn't another flier in Quasequa who

  Can stay in the air for as long as I can on as little food

  as I can. Anybody he sends after me, if he sends

  anyone. I can outfly." He flicked his beak with a

  ;Kringtip.

  ^ "See here? Been broken twice in fights. I can take

  ,^care of myself and I'm not worried about anything

  Alan Dean Foster

  22

  this Markus fella might send up after me. If it flies, I

  can outrun or outfight it."

  "It is good to be confident. Overconfidence is

  dangerous."

  "Don't worry. I'll use my good judgment, sir. I've a

  mate and three fledglings to take care of, and you

  can bet I'm coming back to them. That's stronger

  motivation than your hundred coins. Relax. I'll get

  your message through."

  "Can you fly at night?" Opiode asked him.

  "Night, day, the air's all the same to me whether

  it's light or dark out. But if you'd feel better about it,

  I'll leave tonight."

  Opiode smiled. "Feel better, I would. The night

  must be a friend to us all, now." Flute nodded

  solemnly.

  "As you wish, sir."

  "Caution above all," Opiode counseled him. "This

  Markus has spies everywhere. Even among the fliers."

  "I'll keep it in mind, sir. Once I'm clear of the lake

  district I should have free flying all the way north.

  Besides, I know all the'good fliers and fighters in the

  high islands. I don't think any are in this fella's

  pay."

  "I was not worried about your cousins," Opiode

  said darkly, "so much as I was concerned about what

  this Markus might call forth from another, more

  sinister sky to challenge you."

  "Can't spend all our time worrying about the

  unforeseeable, can we, sir? At least I can't. I sup-

  pose that's your job." He tapped his head. "Anyway,

  anything I can't outfly or outfight I can sure as hell

  outsmart."

  "Then be off with you, owner of an unseen cloud,

  and hasten back to us safely."

  Pandro started for the doorway. "You can bet on

  that, sir."

  THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN

  23

  "A raven, you say?" Markus the Ineluctable was

  listening with only half his mind to what the mouse

  was telling him. He was too busy enjoying the splen-

  dor of his new tower quarters, the finest that the

  Quorumate Complex could offer.

  "Yes, wise one," said the mouse. It had a tendency

  to stutter, a condition made worse by its proximity to

  the powerful and much-feared new chief advisor to

  the Quorum. "It flew s-s-straight away from the

  H-Ianding where Mossamay Street and the wizard's

  c-c-close join."

  "Which direction did it take?"

  "It f-f-flew north, wise one. Few city fliers live to

  the n-n-north."

  Markus turned from contemplation of an exqui-

  site wood carving to stare at his bodyguard. The

  mouse barely came up to his hip. "Prugg, what's

  your opinion of this?"

  Prugg was very big, very strong, and not very

  bright. Despite his size and strength, people had a

  tendency to laugh at him. At least, they used to.

  Since he'd become Markus the Ineluctable's personal

  servant they'd stopped laughing. Prugg was just intelli-

  gent enough to realize this. He was very grateful to

  ' the magician. Markus made him feel comfortable,

  feven though he understood very little of what his

  new master had to say.

  But he didn't have to think anymore. Markus did

  all
his thinking for him, Prugg found thinking

  uncomfortable. And nobody laughed at him anymore.

  • He was respected and feared. It was a new sensation

 
  '•Steod him, understood his needs. Prugg responded

  ^with devoted, unquestioning service.

  ^' So he considered the question carefully before

  )lying. "It is true that the lands to the north of the

  24 Alan Dean Foster

  city are not as thickly inhabited as those in other

  directions. Master."

  "What's the land to the north of here like?"

  "Open forest where live peoples who do not pledge

  their allegiance to the city or to any other government,

  Master. North of that is the Wrounipai, the first of

  many swamps all connected together that run from

  west to east. They cut us off from any lands that lie

  still farther north."

  "And what about those lands?"

  "I do not know. Master. I have never been there. I

  do not know anyone from the city who has ever been

  there."

  "And that's the way this bird was heading when he

  left Opiode's place." Markus turned his full attention

  on his spy. "You're certain of that?"

  "Y-y-y-y-for sure, wise one! I am certain of it. He

  f-f-f-flew straight away from the wizard's neighborhood.

  I followed him with my eyes from the rooftops

  nearby."

  "Okay, but how can we be sure he was on a mission

  for Opiode?"

  The visitor moved nearer, anxious to ingratiate

  himself with the magician- His whiskers trembled as

  he whispered.

  "The wizard Opiode has a young assistant named

  Flute. I s-s-saw him conversing with the raven before

  he took off for the north." Markus was nodding

  absently, admiring the polished hardwood inlay of

  the table behind him- A single chair rested against

  the table.

  It needs something, he thought. A gargoyle or

  demon or some such carved atop the chair. Some-

  thing to draw the visitors' eyes upward. For that

  matter, if the table was going to serve as a desk, it

  had to be up on a dais. He'd have to get some

  TBE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN 25

  carpenters in here and get them started on the

  alterations he wanted.

  He was aware of his spy standing hopeful and

  silent by his legs. "That's it?"

  "That is all, w-w-wise one "

  Markus nodded, glanced toward Prugg. "Give him

  a gold piece."

  "Thank you, wise one!" The spy was unaccus-

  tomed to such largess, but Markus had always be-

  lieved in paying his help as much as possible. Other-

  wise you ended up with garbage working for you,

  ready to sell you out to the first high bidder. Even if

  he was overpaying for this particular bit of information,

  in so doing he was buying himself a valuable servant

  forever.

  The mouse took the coin; skittered quickly away

  from the ominous, silent shape of Prugg; and did

  some admirable bowing and scraping as he retreated

  from the magician's room.

  When the door was closed once more, Prugg turned

  to his benefactor. "What will you do now, Master?"

  "What would you suggest?"

  Prugg strained. Thinking hurt his head. "There

  are faster fliers than ravens, Master. I would send

  them after this one. Better not to take chances. Kill

  it."

  "He has nearly a full day's head start," Markus

  murmured, "but I agree with your suggestion." Prugg

  smiled proudly. "I will send fliers out after him, yes,

  faut 1 will not hire them. I will conjure them forth to

  do our bidding."

  ""Yes. Master," said Prugg admiringly, waiting to

  see what the magician would do next.

  What Markus did was to assume a wide stance in

  the middle of the room. The floor there had been

  deared of all furniture and decoration. Prugg moved

  to one side for a better view. He found it astonishing

  Alan Dean Foster

  26

  that Markus required no special chamber in which to

  perform his wizardry. Nothing but a clear floor and

  plenty of arm room.

  As always, Markus mumbled the incantation. Not

  that Prugg would have understood the words any

  better than Opiode, but Markus the Ineluctable took

  no chances with his secrets.

  The room darkened perceptibly and the air grew

  very still. Prugg would have been able to see better

  with glow bulbs, but Markus would have nothing of

  Opiode's around him and insisted instead on using

  simple torches for illumination.

  Then a faint whine became audible, alien and

  harsh, rising slowly in volume. Prugg strained to see.

  In the center of the room, in front of Markus,

  shapes took form. If was as the magician had said:

  fliers, but fliers akin to none Prugg had ever heard

  tell of. He found himself backing away. They were

  far smaller than he was, but ugly and threatening to

  behold.

  Markus, on the other hand, seemed delighted by

  their appearance. They danced and whirled over his

  head as he guided them with words and hands.

  "Beautiful, beautiful! Better than I dared hope

  for. If only I could've called them up as a child. Ah,

  well, Prugg, it takes time to master the art. See,

  they're just as I described theml"

  The demons continued to pivot and spin over

  their master's head, roaring exultantly and gnashing

  their long teeth. In the enclosed space the din was

  deafening.

  They had no faces, Prugg noted.

  No eyes, nostrils, external ears, or visible mouths.

  Only those mindless, clashing teeth. Fangs without

  jaws. Prugg found he was shaking. There were worse

  things in the world than one's own nightmares^

  "To the north!" Markus cried, pointing with one

  Tsss Moanswr or THE WAQSCSAS 2,7

  If v!

  ft^

  ^

  m

  hand. "There flies the raven named Pandro. Where

  he's going 1 don't know, but see that he doesn't get

  there. Go!"

  One by one, in single file, the faceless demons tore

  through the open window. Only when the last of the

  growling chorus had faded into the light of mideve

  did Markus drop his hands and return to stand

  behind his desk.

  "About this chair, Prugg. What I want you to do

  is—" He stopped and stared at his bodyguard. "Are

  you paying attention?"

  The huge servant forced his gaze away from the

  window where the demons had taken their leave and

  back to his master. Markus was speaking as though

  die conjuration had never taken place. It was all so

  matter-of-fact, so ordinary to him, this calling up of

  otherworldly powers.

  Truly Prugg was fortunate to have him for a master.

  It was a lovely warm day, the air thick with humidi-

  ty but not oppressively so. Below Pandro the trees

  had closed in, shuttin
g off sight of the ground. He

  was already well north not only of Quasequa but of

  its outlying villages and satellite communities as well.

  Rising thermals allowed him to glide effortlessly

  over the dense tropical forest. Since departing

  Quasequa he'd stopped only once, and that briefly,

  the previous night to catch a bit of sleep. Then up

  before dawn for a fast breakfast of fruit, nuts, and

  dried fish and on to the north.

  In his mind he reviewed the landmarks he would

  pass on his way to the distant Bellwoods, a forested

  region that was little more than rumor in Quasequa.

  Opiode assured him such a place existed, just as he

  assured him the great wizard he was to deliver his

  message to existed.

  If he was real, Pandro would find him. He'd never

  28 Alan Dean Foster

  failed to make a detivery yet, and this morning he

  was feeling particularly confident. He felt so good he

  skipped his usual midday snack, preferring to cover

  as much territory as possible. Thus far the journey

  had proved anything but dangerous. He'd assured

  his mate before leaving that it would be more in the

  nature of an extended vacation than a difficult

  assignment. So far it had developed exacdy as he'd

  told her.

  Then he heard the noise.

  It was behind and slightly above him and growing

  steadily louder as he listened. At first he couldn't

  place it. More than anything, it sounded like the

  droning he imagined the fliers of the Plated Folk

  might make. But those historic enemies were likewise

  little more than rumor in Quasequa. Pandro had

  only seen drawings of them, the fevered sketches of

  far-ranging artists with more imagination than fact

  at their disposal.

  Hard-shelled, gray-eyed relatives of the common

  bugs and crawly things that inhabited the woods and

  lakes, they were. None had penetrated as far south

  as Quasequa. He certainly never expected to see

  them in person. Yet when at last he was able to look

  back and make out the shapes pursuing him, he was

  startled, for they certainly looked like the representa-

  tions he'd seen of the Plated Folk.

  The reality as they drew nearer still was worse.

  They were not minions of the Plated Folk but some-

  thing far more sinister. Similarities in shape and

  appearance there were, but even the Plated Folk had

  faces. The demons overtaking him had none. They

  were hard-shelled but utterly different from any-

  thing he'd ever seen before- Nor were they fliers like